


What's a Not Gay Way to Ask Him to Go Camping with Me?

by obstinatrix, seutedeern



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Eventual Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/pseuds/seutedeern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is the headmaster of Westchester Private School for Gifted Youngsters. Charles is the new teacher, fresh from university.</p>
<p>Erik is known for his draconian character streaks and he's got such a dry sense of humour, it's almost dusty.</p>
<p>It's no surprise he enjoys riling up his new young teacher.</p>
<p>(Or: the AU in which Erik could be the Ron Swanson to Charles's Leslie.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're both huge Parks & Recs fans, and perhaps we watched it a bit too often recently because the idea of turning Erik into Ron Swanson 2.0 seemed very appealing all of a sudden.
> 
> We probably don't do Ron justice with this (because, let's be honest, who can?) but we had fun writing this nonentheless.
> 
> The title is an homage to Ron.
> 
> (PS: we took the liberty to keep Charles's parents alive in this fic. He had a happy childhood.)

How exactly Erik had become headmaster of Westchester Private School for Gifted Youngsters before he turned 36, he couldn’t remember exactly. Maybe it was his determination to be a better teacher, to take his pupils seriously and not to back down when certain groups of boys thought they were being particularly funny when they tried to torture their teachers by making insanely stupid jokes and refusing to do their homework.

Erik was a hard man -- at least in his job. He was capable of staring any pupil into submission, his exams were notorious for making at least five people in the classroom cry when they were being written, and he had no inhibitions about publicly humiliating a school bully where his colleagues would have looked away and pretended that everything was fine.

He might have seemed terrifying but he also held a (quite justified) reputation for fairness. He didn’t give out marks solely based upon tests, no. He took his time to observe his pupils, to see whether something else might be troubling them whenever their marks dropped out of the blue. Perhaps this was why he had been offered the position of the new headmaster, shortly after his predecessor had announced his retirement. It had taken him exactly one second to mull it all over in his head before he had agreed to it.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t as if Erik was perfect. He wasn’t Mr. Social Justice, fighting for the weak all day every day (although he had to admit that he liked to make school bullies cry). He was far from it. His sense of humour tended to be dry, too dry for the people who worked with him and especially for his pupils. Most times people thought he was being serious, and that was often enough also the reason why they feared him. Well, it wasn’t his fault that nobody could appreciate the art of cynicism as much as he did. If people were stupid enough to believe every word he said, they probably deserved some rounds of extra work.

Taking all this into account, it was no surprise, really, that when he first met Charles Xavier, Erik was having a field day.

Charles…Charles was special. Erik knew this the moment he walked through the door to his office, looking fresh and vibrant like most new graduates did. They were just _too enthusiastic_ about finally being a teacher. They still thought they could change the world into a better one. With a rueful smile, Erik’s thoughts immediately went to his colleagues who were beyond their late forties and looked forward to every holiday and the next bottle of red wine as soon as school was over. Along with their motivation, the sense of hygiene or the will to live seemed to have exponentially vanished as well. In thirty years time, Charles would look just the same -- depressed over stubborn pupils who refused to learn, and dressed in the same two old grey sweaters with checked pattern and brown corduroys every week.

Erik was quietly grateful that he hadn’t reached that stage yet.

As he scrutinised Charles Xavier sitting in front of him, still in his twenties with a baby face, he wondered how long it would take the other man to lose his will to live. For their current job interview, however, Erik indulged in making him squirm with questions, long pauses and the occasional sarcastic joke which left Charles a little perplexed. Erik didn’t even really care that this last name, Xavier, had rung a bell somewhere. He was too focused on torturing this poor young man sitting in front of him. Charles’s smile never faltered, though, albeit it tended to seem a little uncertain from time to time. And despite Erik’s terrible questions, Charles’s eagerness and devotion to his future job didn’t waver one bit.

Erik was instantly smitten -- in a sort of grumpy way which he wouldn’t voluntarily admit even if someone tried to shove bamboo sticks underneath his fingernails.

Needless to say, Charles was hired straight away -- partly because Erik felt some sense of fondness for him he hadn’t felt for anyone in a while, partly because Mrs. Potter had had a nervous breakdown over one of her classes the previous week (during which she had threatened to throw coconuts at everyone) and wouldn’t be coming back for a long, long time. Schools like this one, parts of the old New England establishment, had a long tradition of hiring young teachers just out of college, whether to inspire the pupils or to scare the young teachers, Erik had never been sure. The system was a little odd, the school a law unto itself, like the English public school set. But Erik had never minded. In a small, private school, there was more opportunity for overlap, with most teachers doubling up a little. Erik had always taken pride in terrorising his students in Maths and Physics classes alike, with a bit of extracurricular sports coaching on the side. The whistle in his hand elevated him to godlike status, and he rather liked it that way. 

Charles -- well, by training, Charles was a Biologist, as Mrs Potter had been. But Erik could tell by the way he spoke animatedly about his background and interests that he could probably be aptly employed in other areas, if the need arose. Charles, frankly speaking, was obviously something of a genius. Looking at the dates on his CV, Erik supposed he must have been a bit of a child prodigy, many of his qualifications achieved several years early. Yes, Charles could probably teach Chemistry to the Lower School, at least, and then they'd see how he got on. That was another thing about hiring new teachers: if you asked them to jump, they'd simply say, "How high, sir?" Especially for the sort of salary this school paid. A common-or-garden high school teacher would give an eye for that sort of pay rise. 

At any rate, Erik was pretty sure Charles would be easily managed. All the same, when he arrived for his first day of work all neatly brushed and cleaned behind the ears, pressed suit and briefcase and smile on his face, Erik couldn't help but pity him a little. The boys would undoubtedly tear him to pieces. Erik was sure of it. They could smell weakness. This was part of the reason he never let a single chink in his armour show. That way lay madness. So, he crossed his arms and watched smugly as Charles, with a spring in his step and the curve of his backside quite delightfully hugged by his suit trousers, entered his Biology lab, quite unaware that he was stepping into the lion's den. 

Turning on his heel, Erik slipped into his own classroom and sat down to wait for his Maths class. His watch was on the desk, ticking down the minutes. Anyone who wasn't here within the next three minutes would be marked late, and Erik had a zero-tolerance policy about lateness. 

Around noon, when it was finally lunch time and the teaching staff as well as the pupils were granted some time to relax, Erik watched Charles with a bemused smile from the other end of the room as the younger man entered the staff room, looking a little rumpled and a little less motivated than he had just a few hours earlier. He walked over to him while Charles unpacked a sandwich and he Erik greeted him with a, “Rough morning?”

Charles looked up at him, his face instantly changing from mild annoyance to relief as though he hadn’t just wrestled his morning through tedious lessons with pre-pubescent little monsters.

“It’s exactly as I had expected," he answered and took a bite from his sandwich. Erik would have described Charles’s smile as a shit eating grin if it hadn’t been for the dark circles underneath his eyes. That man was lying through his teeth.

“Well, in that case I suppose you’ll be happy to hear that this is pretty much usual. It doesn’t get any easier, but that’s exactly what we want, right? To teach those children how to be better people?” Erik cocked his head a little and gave Charles a pleasant smile. He didn’t fail to notice the brief flash of wariness flicking across the other man’s features.

“Of course,” he agreed, his voice sounding a little less jovial.

“Good,” he nodded. “Enjoy your lunch. You’ll need it.”

And with that, he retreated with a grin which he wasn’t quite able to conceal from Charles.

Today, Erik decided, he’d let his pupils suffer in PE a little less than usual as a reward for having given Xavier such a warm welcome.

*

The high-pitched sound of his whistle cut sharply through the air before Erik yelled at one particularly aggressive student to stop tackling the others on the field. They were playing football today, not American but good old European football, and the field outside resembled more of a war zone than anything else. Erik was surprised that today’s match hadn’t turned into a blood bath yet.

He himself was dressed in a grey tracksuit although he had discarded his jacket long ago. It was a warm day, despite the fact that it was almost October already and since he was moving around constantly, keeping an eye out on his pupils, he was actually starting to sweat after a while. Of course it didn’t go unnoticed by him that some female pupils, girls of the older years, were standing by the field and watching them, watching _him_ because it was really no secret that although Erik was widely feared, girls as well as some boys were wildly attracted to him. And ogling him in action during PE was one of their favourite hobbies, apparently, when they weren’t being lazy in class for once.

“Don’t you lot have something better to do? Like attending your lessons?” he barked at them from across the field. The little group of pupils quickly dissipated in a fit of nervous giggling. Erik ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back with a sigh.

_Children._

By the time the lesson was over, Erik was sweaty and overheated. Being Master of the Whistle didn't excuse him from a good bit of running around, and his t-shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. He ferried the kids into the changing room with a fierce order that they shower -- or else -- and then sighed and pushed open the door to the staff shower himself. 

This, at least, was Erik's private space, his private time snatched in the middle of the hectic school day, as he peeled off his gym clothes and tipped up his face into the spray. The water was hot, just the way he liked it, beating the stress of the day out of his muscles, and he groaned softly as he turned a slow circle under the downpour. This was one of the benefits to teaching PE, after all -- being able to snatch a shower in water paid for by the school, in the middle of the day. Erik's next period was free, so he let himself take his time, only turning the water off when it started to run cold. 

The shouts and giggles of students in the corridor had long since died out by the time Erik, in suit trousers and half-buttoned shirt, stepped out of the shower. It was mid-lesson time, now, and he'd be quite safe to take his time cleaning up and fixing himself back into Headmaster Lehnsherr mode. He was still scrubbing vigorously at his wet hair, towel in hand as he meandered towards his office, when he heard someone cough. 

"Jesus Christ, Xavier." Erik draped the towel around his neck, the collar of his shirt still thankfully open, and crossed his arms. "What the hell are you doing down here?" The PE department smelled of mud and youthful sweat and that inexplicable spongy scent of softballs. Erik couldn't imagine anyone _wanting_ to be here unless they had to. 

"I, uh." There was a pink flush spreading across Charles's cheeks. It brought out his freckles. Erik had to admit that it was rather fetching. 

"You, uh…?" Erik raised his eyebrows, dropping his hands to finish doing up his shirt buttons. "You don't have a lesson now, do you?" 

"No, no!" Xavier was almost tripping over himself in his haste to assure Erik he wasn't skipping out on a class. Erik didn't even bother trying to bite back a smirk. Bless him, he was so _young_ and eager to impress. 

"Well, then?" Erik had left his tie hanging on the door of the sports hall, along with his jacket. He reached for it idly, began re-knotting it around his neck. 

"Oh, I." Xavier sighed, then tried to pretend he hadn't. "I'm...a little lost, I'm afraid." 

Of course he was. Erik snorted internally. "Bit of a big place, this school, isn't it, when you're new?" 

"Yes," Xavier said, his big puppyish eyes earnest and hopeful. "You wouldn't happen to be going back towards the main school, would you?" 

"Hmmm." Erik made a soft sound, as if he was considering the issue. Meanwhile, he was running his fingers through his hair, patting it back into place. He didn't think he was imagining the way Xavier's eyes followed his fingers, tracked the line of his throat as Erik arched his neck under the pretence of cracking it. "Why don't you just follow me and find out?" 

God, it was almost pathetic, the way Xavier practically fell over his feet following Erik. He'd half a mind to deliberately go the wrong way and lead them both to the kitchens or something, except that this was Erik's free period and he'd be damned if he was going to miss his grilled cheese fix in the staff room. Plus, the way Xavier's face blossomed with relief when they entered the science department was far too good not to mock. 

"Did you think you'd be lost forever, Xavier?" Erik laughed softly. "Was that just what you'd expected, too?" 

Xavier coloured, and this time it was a proper blush. Erik found he rather liked it. 

"Thank you for your help," the boy said, his voice small. Erik nodded his head towards the staff room, but Xavier shrugged minutely and then darted away, presumably in the direction of his own classroom. 

Erik smiled. Oh, this kid was going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

For a while, Erik was convinced that Charles was on the brink of the sort of meltdown every teacher tended to go through in their career sooner rather than later. The first few weeks seemed to be tough on Charles. Every day, he looked a little less happy, a frown etched onto his features whenever he entered the staff room, and each time they met, it looked as though it was getting deeper. He almost felt something akin to sympathy for the poor young man.

Sometimes he wondered whether or not he should offer him something such as advice -- and Erik shuddered at the mere idea, as he tended to think that everyone needed to go through this experience on their own and lose a part of their soul along with it -- but every time this thought crossed his mind, Charles would suddenly snap out of it and tackle the next class with as much devotion as the previous one.

And, much to Erik’s surprise because, really, he had expected the boy to be a crying mess by the time Christmas rolled around, Charles was slowly turning into the pupils’ pet. More and more children started to greet him every day. Erik didn’t fail to notice, if he and Charles happened to be teaching in classrooms next to each other, that the girls would try to give him ( _not_ Erik) flirtatious smiles. Some of them were even lingering around in the classroom after the lesson had ended, just to see if they could catch some of Charles’s precious time and chat to him for a while, even if it was just five minutes.

Erik wasn’t sure what exactly he hated more: that Charles was getting more popular and Erik was being dropped like a hot potato on the sexy teacher scale, or that others -- regardless of their age -- were trying to flirt with the young teacher in the first place. 

He knew it shouldn't bother him, really. He couldn't even quite be sure why it did. But Erik had been a young teacher at this school long before he'd been the headmaster, and while the students had always viewed him as a little stern and scary, his reputation in the staff room wasn't quite the same. One of the more established teachers, Mrs Anderson, had taken to him immediately, bringing him random baked goods in Tupperware boxes and fussing about how skinny Erik was. (This was nonsense; Erik was athletic and healthily toned, but he appreciated the maternal attention). A secular Jew, Erik usually kept haphazardly kosher just out of habit -- there'd been no pork in his house as a child -- but Mrs Anderson had opened to his eyes to such delicacies as her special bacon wrapped shrimp and sausage rolls. He was, he had always been told, her 'special boy'. 

Which, probably, was a large part of why he felt more than a bit pissed off when he walked into the staff room to find Charles being waylaid in the corner by Mrs Anderson, his smile bashful and boyishly pleased, her hand on his arm as she presented him with a box of...something. It wasn't like she was flirting, exactly, Erik knew that. But there was always that harmless flirtatious element between a motherly older woman and a handsome young man, and Erik had prided himself on having that relationship with Mrs Anderson. (Her name was Mary, but it seemed weird to think of her that way, like an equal). And now, it seems, she had turned her attentions to Charles. 

Pfft. Well. It seemed everyone was moving on from him to Charles, and Charles had a warm smile and a wink for everyone, as he settled in and became more sure of himself. 

A wink for everyone, that was, except Erik. Erik knew he couldn't exactly blame Charles for this. He'd given him the gruff cold shoulder pretty much since he arrived. But that didn't mean he couldn't be miffed, watching Charles completely sail past Erik and his cynical warnings to become the darling of staff and students alike. Really, it was quite disgusting. 

He didn't think before he stalked across the staff room and put a hand on Mrs Anderson's shoulder. "Is that for me?" he asked sweetly, pointing at the box in her hand. 

She laughed and lifted a hand to chuck his cheek. "No it isn't, you little devil. You should be old enough to feed yourself by now, although god knows you don't." She clicked her tongue. "But this is for Charles, today." 

"Mary was kind enough to bring me some food to take home," Charles said amiably. "Apparently she disapproves of microwave food." 

_Mary_ , indeed. Erik bit back his irritation (what presumption!) and said dryly, "Mrs Anderson is a very kind lady. But don't you have a lesson to get to, Xavier?" 

The look on Xavier's face shifted immediately, becoming nervous and halting, and he made his excuses and slipped away. Erik tried to ignore Mrs Anderson's look of criticism, but he couldn't quite manage it. 

"Really, Erik. You should give the boy a break." 

"He has to learn," Erik said loftily, "just as we all did." 

Later that day, Erik waited outside Charles’s classroom until the lesson was over. When all the pupils had (reluctantly) left the room, Erik entered it. Charles was still gathering his working material -- he was trying to put back together a dummy of the human body and it seemed as though his pupils had wreaked havoc with all the organs -- and Erik took his time observing Xavier while the other man nodded at him briefly with a nervous smile.

“Come to help me clean up?” he asked as he tried fruitlessly to put back the liver, which repeatedly insisted upon falling out. It was a little frustrating to watch him wrestle with it.

“No, I came to talk to you about something else.” Erik probably sounded a little more serious than he had originally intended to, and Charles flinched at the tone in his voice...but on second thought, Erik was pleased with the reaction. Nobody was going to steal his prime position as the school’s teacher heartthrob without facing the consequences.

“Well?” Charles asked, smiling with relief as he finally managed to put back in the rest of the organs as well. Now that he was giving Erik his full attention, leaning against the desk’s edge with his arms crossed in front of his chest, Erik...Erik could see why someone might fancy this fledgling. He wasn’t unattractive, not in the least. He had open, friendly features and all the girls probably swooned over his blue eyes. It was difficult to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that thought.

“So,” he cleared his throat as he stepped towards Charles, taking a deliberately slow sip from his coffee. “You and Mrs. Anderson, huh?”

Charles’s face lit up instantly. “She’s great, isn’t she? I never asked her to do anything for me but she suddenly started sharing her lunch with me and I’ve got to say that she makes some _excellent_ bacon-wrapped shrimp.” He picked up the Tupperware box which contained said meal and waved it in front of Erik’s face.

“Yes, about _that_...” he said, taking the box from Charles with one smooth movement. “These are mine.”

The other man looked befuddled. “Excuse me. What?”

“They’re mine. Bacon-wrapped shrimp is _my thing_. They’re pretty much the only thing that keeps me going on extremely stressful days at school.”

“But she made them --”

“Mine, Charles.”

“Erik --”

“Charles.”

Without noticing, he had put on his stern teacher voice that had usually even Erik’s most notorious pupils yielding to him. Charles was no exception. He only stared back at Erik, his face doing something that could have been described as sulking, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight line.

“All right.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

Deep inside, Erik knew this was a dick move. He had no right to requisition the shrimp from Charles when it had been made for him. But Erik's ego was wounded, in more than one way, and he couldn't help himself. He knew he was being a child, but that didn't stop him stalking back to his office with the Tupperware and promptly cramming three of the shrimp into his mouth. After all, they were his, surely? 

Well. Not really. Erik could protest all he wanted, but truthfully, he knew he was making an arse of himself with the staff who had previously liked him, without having any effect at all on the students. As the term drew on, Xavier was more and more Mrs Anderson's pet. When it came to December, time for the annual "Christmas Activities", Erik was dreading what he would have to put up with. 

Christmas Activities was a long standing tradition at this school. While other schools had discos, this one considered itself above that, and instead liked to form its students into random groups to participate in quizzes and constructive activities over an evening of Christmas food, all aimed towards winning points for one's House. Every teacher, as well as each student, had a house affiliation. Erik was quietly pleased that he was captain of Red house, while Charles had been appointed to Blue. But that didn't really help in the case of everyone's favourite Christmas vote: Hottest Teacher. If Xavier should win over him, the Reds would have a hard time catching up. 

Right now, though, as Erik discreetly watched Charles over the rim of his mug of mulled wine, he wasn’t really worried that either Charles’s house or the man himself would win. He was wearing one of those silly paper crowns and he seemed distinctly more inebriated than he had done half an hour earlier. That wasn’t hot, not in the slightest. It was rather embarrassing to watch as Charles giggled stupidly into his own mug and flirted with everything that flashed him so much as a smile.

He might have won over Mrs Anderson and her bacon-wrapped shrimps but he wouldn’t win this. _This_ was Erik’s supreme discipline; he had been voted ‘Hottest Teacher’ for the past seven years -- ever since he had started working at this school -- and he was secretly proud of it. He loved terrifying his pupils but he also enjoyed knowing that they all were probably secretly turned on by it -- a confusing mess of feelings, just the right thing these strange kids nowadays probably got off on.

Either way, just after the main course and before the dessert would be served, it was time to announce the winner. A murmur rippled through the crowd when one of the teachers stepped up to the podium (Erik couldn’t be arsed at this point as he had had too much wine during dinner) with a nervous smile in order to read out the final results of the last poll: Erik’s favourite part of the evening.

There were several categories, not just Hottest Teacher. The pupils were allowed to vote who was the funniest teacher, who gave the fairest marks, who was most motivated and several other silly sections Erik couldn’t be bothered to remember.

Unsurprisingly, he won _Scariest Teacher_.

Surprisingly, Charles won almost every second _positive_ title. Erik frowned.

“And now,” Mr McCoy cleared his throat, giving the crowd another nervous smile and Erik wondered why he had picked _Hank_ of all people because that poor man already had problems teaching an entire class of rabid teenagers, “it’s time to announce the last category for this evening! As you all know, it’s the ‘Hottest Teacher’ title which our dear headmaster Mr Lehnsherr has won ever since he has started working at this school.” Erik didn’t even try to suppress a smug smile. “Let’s see if he can make it eight times in a row.”

He leaned forward, perched upon his elbows. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Charles was shooting him a look across the table. Erik ignored him.

“And the winner is --” Hank drew in a sharp breath. Erik hated him for his dramatic pauses. “Mr Xavier!”

A raucous chorus of cheers broke out from the back table, inhabited mostly by older girls and their occasional gay hangers-on. Xavier was laughing, his eyes downcast and his cheeks pink and one hand clutching his cheek dismissively, _no no honestly not at all_. Erik, still poised on his elbows, didn't know what to do with his face. Xavier? 

_Xavier?_

Fuck, it was even worse that this should happen after Hank had pointed out Erik's winning streak. If he hadn't said that, at least the youngest students wouldn't have known what a humiliation this was for Erik. The bastard must have known who'd won already, and said that on purpose. He and Xavier were probably in this together; Christ, they were probably fucking. 

Erik didn't realise he was digging his nails into his palms until it actually began to hurt. By that point, Xavier had nobly accepted his prize, still nodding and beaming like some sort of sycophant, his flush running all down his neck and his hair ruffled. Erik would have enjoyed hating him more if he hadn't looked so damn...well… _hot_. 

It was always especially annoying when the students were right. 

It had always been tradition to end the evening on a high note. For Erik, this had usually meant gliding through the dessert course and into the staff-only portion of the evening on the pleasurable high of being, if not generally liked, universally crushed-upon. Tonight, he was grumpy as he shovelled down his plum pudding and threw back perhaps more eggnog than was advisable. By the time the students filed out, giddy and grinning, Erik was in a tipsy haze of indignation, and Xavier was his target. 

There was absolutely nothing classy about the staff Christmas party, this much Erik knew. If anything, the school was _too_ posh to be cool. Once the kids had been dispensed with, the dining hall turned into something that reminded Erik of school discos of his youth, complete with coloured lights and an oversized bowl of punch. Mrs Anderson's bacon-wrapped shrimp, of course, were the star attraction of the food table. Not that anyone needed food after the dinner they'd just consumed, but it was Christmas, after all. 

Erik had never been a fan of punch. Its ingredients were questionable, and its effects were lacking, to say the least. So, it was two glasses of champagne later when he bumped into Xavier as they reached for one of the coveted shrimp. 

"Oh!" Xavier laughed softly, turning to smile at Erik, and Erik cursed the fact that Xavier's mouth was so fucking _biteable._ "I am sorry, please, go ahead." 

"No, no!" Erik could feel his mouth twisting into a smirk, but he was powerless to help it. "Couldn't step in before our Hottest Teacher, could we?" 

Xavier coloured. It was attractive. That asshole. 

"Oh, that." He was biting his lip, looking down at the table. This hid his blue eyes from view, but simply succeeded in drawing Erik's attention to the obscene length of his eyelashes. Really, the man was a menace. "I didn't mean to steal your prize, Mr Lehnsherr, honestly. And if you ask me --" Xavier laughed shortly -- "they're quite blind anyway, if they want to vote for me over you." 

This shouldn’t have flattered him but satisfaction still welled up in his chest. “Ah, really? Why?” God, he really was pushing it now, wasn’t he?

Charles looked at him with arched eyebrows, a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. For one moment, he opened it as if to say something before he closed it again and hummed, his smile widening.

“What?” Erik asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Charles laughed and pushed his silly paper crown back into place. “Mr McCoy -- Hank, sorry -- told me it was actually almost a tie.”

“A tie?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Between you and me. Apparently our beloved pupils think we’re both almost equally _hot_.”

“Do they,” Erik sighed and his thoughts went back to the bacon-wrapped shrimp which was still lying on the plate. He felt like he deserved it. Charles drew his attention back, though, with a quiet laugh as he stepped closer. When Erik averted his gaze from the shrimp and looked back at Charles, the other man was standing right in front of him and -- Christ, what the fuck was going on, why was he suddenly tugging at Erik’s Christmas tie and giving him bedroom eyes?

“Well, to be honest, I’d have voted for you if I had been a pupil at this school, Erik. Never mind that godawful tie you're wearing. But --” And here, he leaned in as he tugged Erik closer until his lips were barely grazing Erik’s ear. “I suppose we can always get rid of that, can’t we?”

Erik couldn't believe his ears. All the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to be standing on end. Had he entered some strange topsy-turvy land? Was Xavier _really_ coming onto him this strongly at the fucking staff Christmas party, or was this just his idea of a joke? Erik cleared his throat. 

"What's wrong with my tie?" he demanded.   
Charles snorted. Now that Erik looked at him, he could see that he -- _Xavier_ \-- was at least as inebriated as Erik was, probably rather more. His blue eyes were bright and soft, his smile hazy. Erik was still sober enough to register this for a second, before that tongue flickered out over those lips, and Erik lost his mind again. 

"Nothing at all," Xavier said lightly. His hand was still fisted firmly around the thick part of Erik's tie, white-knuckled, the way it might look curled around the base of Erik's cock. "Except that it's hideous." 

"It's Christmas," Erik protested, offended despite himself, and Xavier laughed. He was still awfully close, eyes twinkling, and then he leaned in, mouth almost brushing the shell of Erik's ear, his breath warm and shaking with laughter. 

"If you really want to know what I think of your tie," he murmured, voice thick with laughter, "there's nobody in the corridor." 

With that, he sauntered off, remarkably un-wobbly, in the direction of the door, magnificent ass swaying to and fro in his tight trousers. 

Erik was after him like a shot. 

He'd never seen Xavier like this before, loose-limbed and grinning, his back to the wall right under Grade 8's display on rural Africa, head tipped back and expression completely inappropriate for the setting. Erik felt his stomach dip hotly, and his hands were on Xavier's arms before he could help himself. "So," he said, foot nudging in between Xavier's, "why would you have voted for me, then? If you were a student?" 

Xavier laughed softly. Erik was pushing his luck, he knew, but he was so damn curious, and Xavier was soft like this, pliable and red-mouthed and open. 

"Why _wouldn't_ I?" Xavier said, tipping his chin up to meet Erik's eyes. "Mr chiselled jaw and grey eyes, that tiny waist, broad shoulders...I do love a tiny waist in a man. Not to mention the fact that…" At this point, the sober Xavier would have blushed, but this Xavier was shameless -- "your trousers don't do much to conceal the monster in your pants, darling." 

_Jesus_. He was drunk as _hell_ , but Erik must have been drunk himself, because all he felt was a slow curl of disbelieving lust, his fingers tightening on Xavier's arms. "Oh, really?" 

"Really," Xavier whispered, and tugged on Erik's tie again, and this time, Erik let himself be pulled down into a messy, inadvisable, but incredibly hot kiss. Erik released a sharp breath through his nostrils, one of his hands curled around Charles’s hip, the other firmly placed on the wall next to Charles in order to support himself, feeling like he might just fall over.

Charles’s kisses were shameless. Gone was his usual coy and well-behaved demeanour. This wasn’t the posh and polite person Erik had got to know over the last couple of months. This wasn’t the school’s favourite teacher, beloved by pupils and teachers alike. What Charles was doing here was downright dirty, the way he made keening noises and licked into Erik’s mouth greedily without having done much courting, the way he bit and sucked at Erik's bottom lip. It was driving Erik insane.

It was over far too soon. Charles withdrew with a quiet sigh against Erik’s lips and nuzzled his nose. “Right, I need to ask you this, but are you gay?” he asked, sounding a little breathless, and couldn’t stop himself from pressing more drunk, clinging kisses to Erik’s lips.

“Call it circumstantial homosexuality,” Erik hummed, tilting his head a little as he allowed Charles to press more kisses along his jaw while his hands wandered over the other man’s back. “And you?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this, right?” And, _fuck_ , Charles knew how to give love bites. Erik was grateful that he was too drunk to feel ashamed of the sounds that escaped his mouth while Charles bit and sucked at his neck.

"God," Charles was murmuring, the tone of his voice sin-deep and breathless, "how long I've wanted to do this, you've no idea." His mouth was hot, eager on Erik's neck, tracing the line of his throat now gently, now sucking hard; finding his way to all the secret places that made Erik shiver and clutch at Charles's back. "So gorgeous, Erik." 

The sound of his first name in Charles's mouth -- Christ, Erik didn't know why it aroused him as much as it did, but a moment later, Charles was sucking at the pale fine skin below Erik's ear and Erik heard himself moaning, the sound echoing in his mind as if from a long way off. Charles groaned and rocked against him, hard against Erik's hip, and Erik felt the sharp edge of his teeth drawing the blood to the surface of Erik's neck. Dimly, he was aware that this was a bad idea, but all that was overridden by how _good_ it felt, all his senses rushing to that place on his neck where Charles's mouth was owning his nerves, tasting his pulse. 

" _Fuck --_ " Erik's head dropped back against the wall, crumpling somebody's meticulously handwritten essay on daily life in The Gambia. "Charles -- God --" 

Charles was still sucking at him, moaning against Erik's skin, hips working frantically and hands in Erik's hair and Erik could have let him go on forever, had it not been for the sudden slam of the fire door and the unmistakable sound of Mrs Anderson's laughter. 

"Jesus." Erik shoved Charles away rather unceremoniously; luckily, Charles, drunk as he was, seemed to have grasped the reality of the situation well enough not to take offence. "We can't -- let's --" 

"Back inside," Charles agreed, breathless. He looked _wrecked_ , mouth scarlet, kiss-smeared and wet, trousers distorted shamelessly at the crotch, but it was dark in the dining hall, and that would cover a multitude of sins. 

"Inside," Erik said, tamping down the pang of regret that welled up in his stomach at the sight of Charles like that, obscene, debauched. This was just another Christmas indiscretion, after all. They could hide from each other and forget it by the time January rolled around. 

For now, they came back to the party looking a little dishevelled but not too bad. Charles had helped Erik with fixing his tie, briefly let his fingertips run along Erik’s throat -- if this was Xavier’s seduction technique, it was working.

As for the rest of the evening, Erik deliberately avoided Charles’s mere presence and he was grateful that his colleague did the same. Who knew what sort of rumours they could have sparked if they had spent more time with each other.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to Erik’s chagrin, rumours had started just the next day, the last day before Christmas holidays would begin, and he was _mortified_. He had made the mistake of taking off his scarf in class and one of the pupils had asked him if he had a vampire at home. Cheeky little bastards. Unfortunately, that pupil hadn’t given Erik another more reliable reason to punish him with a bad mark for that impudent question, and so his mood had dropped to a disastrous low and continued to stay foul long after the lesson was over.

Back in the staff room, someone else -- was it Raven? -- pointed out the mark on his neck as well. His colleagues weren’t scared of Erik in that respect, and so it was no real surprise to him when he heard a female voice shout from across the room, “Oh, look at that, Erik got laid last night!”

Every head turned towards him. Erik felt as though he was standing underneath a spot light. It was a nightmare.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, _Miss Darkholme_ ,” he grumbled while sorting out his teaching materials. Raven just laughed.

He might have ignored the curious glances at his neck where a huge angry purple mark ran across it, but he didn’t fail to notice Xavier’s beet red face, which he was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a book. Usually, the other man would have joined the taunting since he and Raven seemed to be terribly chummy together, laughing and teasing each other like brother and sister. Now, however, Charles was exceptionally quiet.

Erik thought of all the possible ways he could murder him while still making it look like an accident. (He didn’t take public humiliation very well.) There were plenty of shady stairwells in this school. He could probably lure Xavier into one and shove him down the stairs without anyone making accusations, right? 

Erik pushed down the flood of unwanted thoughts in the back of his mind that suggested all the other things he could do with Xavier in a deserted stairwell. For God's sake, it was that sort of thinking with his dick that had landed him in this situation to begin with. Never mind that he would rather like to find out if Xavier's abilities extended beyond his kisses and into the rest of his...repertoire. Gay men, in Erik's experience, gave by far the best head. 

There was one saving grace, at least. Xavier might have been blushing like a virgin bride, but nobody in the staff room was likely to connect the dots. They assumed Erik was straight, and he'd never bothered to correct them. After all, people tended to give you weird looks when you tried to explain that your sexuality was 'hot people'. No, all Erik had to do was deny everything and get through the rest of this one day, and then he could go home in peace. By January, at least, these damn bruises should have been long gone. 

Afternoon school dragged by, but at least the kids were restless and distracted from Erik and his uncharacteristic scarf by the promise of holidays. It wasn't until his last class was on its way out that one of them reminded him of his one remaining obligation. 

Sean's father was the mayor, and as such, he and Erik occasionally bumped into each other at various official occasions, Erik representing the school. As he left the room, Sean called out cheerfully, "See you at the Xavier Foundation Dinner, Mr Lehnsherr!" 

It wasn't until Erik closed his door that it hit him. The _Xavier Foundation._. 

Fuck.

He hurried back to the door, opened it, but both Sean and his father had already left. His secretary, Miss MacTaggert, raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Everything all right, Erik?” she asked with her head slightly cocked.

“Uh --” He scratched his neck, a nervous habit of his, as he tried to sort out his thoughts. “Please, refresh my mind but...what exactly does the Xavier Foundation do?”

Moira clicked her tongue at him and laughed, thinking he was joking. “Erik, please.” And with that, she turned back to her computer.

“No, seriously, Moira.” He stepped out of his office and came walking over to her desk, sat down on its edge and looked at her imploringly as he tried to keep his voice down. “If I was joking, you’d know.”

Maybe the look he gave her was too intimidating to refuse because Moira glanced around briefly before she leaned in, beckoning Erik closer with a finger before she whispered, “Our school, of course. Did you think this private school was government property?”

“No, but --”

“Honestly, Erik, how can you actually forget who finances your life?” Despite her frown, she seemed more than amused by it.

“I didn’t _forget_ it!” he retorted defensively. “I’m just a very busy man.”

“Uh-huh.” Discreetly she glanced at his almost empty schedule. He ignored her.

“So, it really is run by a family named _Xavier_?”

“Yes, for God’s sake. Just four months ago you hired -- what’s his name? Charles? -- as one of your new teachers. You can’t be that senile already, Erik.”

Erik felt his heart slowly sink into his boots. His last hope had been that there was no connection, but, honestly, a name like Xavier...

"And he's one of them, is he?" he asked weakly. 

"Are you telling me you didn't know?" Moira's tone was incredulous. "Erik, he's the heir to all of it. They own half this town. God only knows why he wants to be a teacher, he must have more money than Croesus. I suppose he just didn't want to be bored." 

"Oh to have that problem," Erik muttered grimly. So, it looked as if he wouldn't be escaping this awkward situation as soon as he'd hoped. The foundation dinner was next week; Erik was sadly sure Charles would be there. He'd never been there before, in Erik's experience, but now that he considered it, that made sense. Charles would have been away at university for the past few years, and too young before that. But this year...

Erik could only hope the almighty Xaviers didn't do much mingling with the common people at their dinners. 

* 

The first Monday of the holidays, as usual, was bliss. Erik took his time rolling luxuriously around in bed, stretching and pulling the duvet up over his head and firmly refusing to get up until ten at the earliest. Sometimes he wondered if he was in the right profession, if holidays gave him this much joy, but -- everyone loved a holiday, after all. Erik was only lucky that, as a teacher, he got more time off than most. 

When he finally rolled out of bed, he took a brief shower before he got dressed for a morning run. As he looked out of the window, a shiver ran down his spine. Everything was covered in a thick white layer of fresh-fallen snow which had come down overnight. Perhaps he'd have to shorten his run and just make it a quick jog down to the nearest coffee shop. Luckily, the next town was only fifteen minutes away and at the prospect of a huge cup of black coffee with a rich flavour, he jogged a little faster than usual.

It was a little disconcerting for Erik to see that apparently every inhabitant in the vicinity of fifty miles was out on the streets today. Somehow, he had expected that most people would have stayed inside, but instead, the streets were crowded. It was busy, hectic even and it was more than stressful to fight a way through groups of people and mothers with their crying children, still apparently trying to gather the last few presents for Christmas.

Once Erik finally arrived at the coffee shop, he breathed a sigh of relief...only to freeze in horror as he entered the shop. It was _crammed_. It wasn’t just outside, no, it was just as terrible inside. He hadn’t known until now that so many people could fit into such a small space.

With a sinking feeling in his heart, Erik had already mentally bid farewell to his black coffee when suddenly, someone tapped his shoulder.

“Erik! Fancy meeting you here!”

Charles was grinning up at him and not even hiding the fact of how pleased he was to bump into Erik. Internally, Erik groaned, thinking not quite without suspicion how much his current situation resembled some 90s romantic comedy with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. It certainly felt like that.

“Yes, well, I really just wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee. But I suppose I can forget about that,” he sighed, nodding towards the overcrowded counter where the coffee shop’s staff seemed helplessly overstretched.

Charles hummed in agreement as he rocked up and down on his heels. “I’ve been queueing up for ten minutes.”

Erik made a face. "The only thing I hate more than large crowds of people are large crowds of people who stand between me and my coffee.”

Charles's face lit up, and Erik immediately wished he could have taken back his words and just said instead _Sorry, but I need to get the fuck out of here._

Too late.

“I’ve got an idea,” Charles said with a charming smile which had Erik simultaneously wanting to run for the hills as well as craving a repeat of their previous friendly kissing session at the Christmas party. “How about you and I go and look for another shop? I know a nice little café just down the street and they’ve got a cheesecake I’d simply kill for.”

 _No, thank you_ , said the sensible part of Erik's brain. _No, it's all right, I suppose this serves me right and I should just run back home and save the money and make the coffee myself in my own private kitchen._

"Oh," said Erik's mouth, traitorous as always. "That sounds nice." 

Charles's grin practically leapt off his face. "Oh, it is," he assured Erik, nodding to emphasise his point. "Not far from here, but off the beaten track, you know; I think most people haven't got a clue it's there. Honestly, though, _such_ good coffee and no crowds…" 

"Sold," Erik cut in, eyeing the bustling crowd with some trepidation. "Take me to the coffee." 

Charles hadn't been lying when he said the place was nearby. It was a five minute walk, in a quiet little sidestreet, and Erik had to give Charles credit -- he'd never come across this place before. And that wasn't because it was a dive, either. As they walked in, the door jangling to announce their entrance, Erik felt the chill in his face give way to the brisk warmth of the shop, full of little booths and Christmas decorations and neatly-dressed waitresses, moving about the shop in pressed polo shirts and polished shoes. 

"Wow," Erik said, genuinely impressed. "How did you find this place?" 

"That would be telling," Charles said with a wink. "Now -- how do you like it, Mr Lehnsherr?" 

_With you on your back and your legs in the air_ , growled Erik's subconscious. "Uh...black, please, an extra shot, if possible." 

"No problem." Charles flashed him a winning smile, and went up to the counter. 

Really, Erik had meant to take his coffee and run. That had been the point of this after all, to move; he'd wanted to jog into town, get his caffeine fix, and jog home with it. But as Charles came towards him, beaming and brandishing two steaming cups of coffee, Erik couldn't quite bring himself to say _thank you_ and then jet off home right away. He supposed he'd have to stick this out for a bit longer. 

Curses, and all that. 

"So," Charles said, blowing on his coffee, "what are you doing here on the weekend?" 

"Running," Erik said honestly, granting Charles a half smile. "Coffee gives me an incentive, you know." 

"Oh...an addict." Charles was grinning. "I am, too. It's a problem, but I can't imagine my life without it." 

Erik laughed softly into his cup. Xavier was annoyingly more personable than Erik wanted him to be. He was...fun. It was upsetting. It was on the tip of Erik's tongue to ask about the Foundation Dinner, but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. _Want to fool around again? I thought the Xavier Foundation Dinner would be a great opportunity._ Fuck, no. 

Erik cleared his throat, cupped his hands around the warmth of his cup. "How are you finding the school, anyway?" 

Charles’s mouth quirked up into a crooked smile. “I like it, really. It’s quite how I expected it’d be once I’d start teaching. Granted, it’ll be weird to continue teaching, knowing that my pupils, er, seem to fancy me --” He coughed at that, probably more out of sheer embarrassment than anything else. “But I can’t see myself happier in another job.”

Erik almost blurted out the question as to why Charles worked at all, since he was filthy rich. But he knew better, and quickly took a sip from his coffee while giving a noncommittal grunt.

“Either way, I’m glad I’m working at this school. It’s got its perks, I must admit.” And if Erik hadn’t looked up from the cup in his hands, he’d have missed Charles’s sly yet appreciative glance up and down Erik’s body. Suddenly, he felt too hot underneath all his clothes and it wasn’t just because of the caffeine that was slowly trickling into his system.

“Glad you think so,” he coughed out. 

“Of course, my friend. By the way,” and suddenly, Charles’s entire demeanour changed from flirtatious to full-on business-like -- “--you’ve already heard of the foundation dinner, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good. My parents will be pleased that you’re representing the school.”

“Your parents will be there, too?” Erik frowned. God, this was getting worse and worse by the minute. His hopes to perhaps have a second go with Charles flew right out of the window.

“Yes, of course!” The other man laughed. “And naturally I’ll be there as well. Since I’ve sort of promised my mother to take care of the entire organisation of the event, I’ve got to ask you if it’s just you or...or plus one?”

Erik cringed internally. He knew Charles was quite within his professional rights in asking that question, but still, given their history, it made Erik squirm in his seat. He cleared his throat and fought to look professional. "Um, just me, I'm afraid. I'm very, very single." 

Charles laughed softly, catching Erik's eyes and smiling a little. "Oh, I know how that is. All right, I'll tell my parents. Mind you --" he put a finger on the table, as if rebuking Erik -- "they may end up setting you up with some friend of theirs. You've been warned. They like to have a balanced table." 

"Oh, God." Erik laughed softly. "All right, warning heeded." 

"A girl, you understand," Charles said. His expression was shifty. Erik probably should have let it pass, but he couldn't resist. Turned out that he was an asshole at heart after all. 

"I know you're dying to hear that I'm allergic to girls," he said, "but actually, I like them fine. Unlike you, I suppose." 

"Well." Charles tossed his head and looked Erik pointedly in the eyes. "I was just saying." 

"Mmmm." Erik's coffee was cool enough to drink at speed, now, and he drained the last of it before setting the empty cup on the table. "Well, I'd better be heading back, but it was nice to bump into you. Thanks for the chat." 

"Of course." Charles, like a proper gentleman, stood up to bid Erik goodbye, despite the sneakers and sweaty running clothes. "I look forward to the dinner." 

"Same," Erik said, hoping he didn't sound quite as dubious as he felt. Charles was very handsome, after all, and clearly very willing. If it had been anything other than his father's family dinner, Erik would have been all over that in the bathroom before the starters had been served. But as it was… 

"See you later," Erik called out, before Charles had a chance to speak, and he jogged out of the coffee shop, head down and caffeine buzzing through his veins as he powered back towards home.

*

Against his better hopes, the Foundation Dinner seemed to have arrived faster than Erik would have liked. And when he finally found himself facing his mirror on the evening of said event, he felt his stomach dip. He really didn’t want to go, and he really didn’t want to see Charles again just now. Especially not when his parents were around.

Of course he had dressed up nicely, had put on his best suit, waistcoat and tie and freshly polished shoes and all that, but that was all outward appearance. He knew that his smile wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. If anyone even attempted to make him give a speech about the school and his profession as the headmaster of it, he’d shove his fist down the poor fool’s throat just to make them shut up.

As he sat in the taxi on the way to the dinner, he sincerely hoped that there would be at least an abundance of alcohol.

Once he was there, it turned out that the Xaviers had placed him at a table with quite tolerable people. Next to him was someone called Emma Frost, a slim blonde about his own age whom Erik instantly clicked with. She didn’t seem very keen on this dinner either and when Erik leaned towards her, muttering that he wished they’d just start already so he could go the fuck back home, she laughed. Granted, the man to Emma’s other side, Sebastian Shaw, seemed like an utter imbecile compared to the rest of people at Erik’s table but all in all, Erik noticed that he was actually enjoying himself after a while. It also helped that Emma, as well as other ladies, seemed to appreciate Erik’s appearance for the evening. His narcissism had paid off.

The dinner itself was lavish, and Erik had never been one to turn down free food, a habit he'd picked up in his student days and never grown out of. Unfortunately, lavish also meant _long_. The starter came and went, and then someone got up and gave a dreadfully dull speech about some proposed development the Xaviers would, naturally, be financing. Emma leaned over at one point and murmured, "I think the food is there just to give us an incentive to sit through this bullshit," and Erik had to smother a laugh in the cuff of his shirt. By the time the main was served, he was already quite ready either to go home, or to get to the open bar. Unlimited alcohol was, after all, the best part of any function like this one. 

Or rather, it was _usually_. 

Erik had just set down his cutlery when Mr Xavier the elder started up his glass-tapping again, the sound of his spoon on the crystal cutting through the low buzz of chatter. Erik steeled himself for another long drone from another fat old man, but when the speaker stepped up to the podium, he almost swallowed his tongue. 

It was him. Xavier, _Erik's_ Xavier, looking worlds away from the bashful, besweatered school teacher to whom Erik had become accustomed over the past several months. This Xavier -- self-possessed, handsome, looking quite at home in a suit that had probably cost more than Erik's car -- was in his element, as if he'd been born to this. As indeed, Erik reminded himself, he had. But God, he looked good, an edge of cockiness in the angle of his chin, his eyes vibrantly blue and full of energy. Despite himself, Erik leaned in, actually anxious to hear what the man had to say. 

He talked about the school; of course he did. Erik should have thanked him for taking away the responsibility of this blasted speech, but he was too caught up in listening to one of his own teachers describe his school as if he were an outsider, an observer. Xavier's voice was animated and engaging as he described the efficiency with which the school was run, the enthusiasm and genuine investment of the teachers, and Erik's chest was clenching oddly. He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason, but it felt wrong, somehow, to hear Xavier praise the school without accepting the part of the credit that was due to him, to his enthusiasm. Erik could be reticent, but he always allocated credit where it was due. Then, of course, there was the fact that Xavier looked gorgeous when he was impassioned, and by the time he finished, biting his flushed lower lip on a grin as the room applauded, Erik knew he was in trouble. 

Again. 

This wasn't his shy little schoolboy; Erik had underestimated him utterly. This was the man he'd seen flashes of that night when Charles had been drunk and pushy, the Charles who'd gripped Erik's arms and kissed him with an almost vicious urgency. Erik liked this Charles. Erik _wanted_ him. 

And then Charles's father came up to clap his son on the back and thank him, and Erik felt immediately like a naughty boy caught masturbating by a parent. Shit. He shouldn't be thinking about Charles like that, here, at this charity dinner, in front of his _father_. Whoever decided Erik should be put in charge of children clearly hadn't been thinking straight, if he could hardly control his own urges. 

God, this was bad. This was really, really bad.

From the corner of his eye, Erik noticed that Emma was shooting him wary glances.

“What?” he eventually asked and Emma’s face softened into a slight smile.

“I was just wondering if this entire thing here makes you just as nauseous as me or if you’re suffering from something else.”

“I’m fine, thank you. It’s just the air in here. It’s a bit stuffy.”

Emma gave him another intent look. “I agree. And we definitely need more wine.”

They smiled at each other and Erik was glad he had found a kindred spirit, but then he noticed a figure behind Emma that came walking up to them, and he had to suppress every instinctive reaction to jump up and run away.

“Oh dear, here we go…” he muttered under his breath while Emma raised her eyebrows questioningly at him. And then _he_ was there.

“Erik! I’m so pleased to see you here, and I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to say hello earlier.” It wasn’t fair. It’s was downright unjust that Charles Xavier looked so utterly ravishing on such an occasion when his parents were within the vicinity of twenty metres. This was worse than his craving for bacon-wrapped shrimp -- this was _tuxedo-wrapped Xavier_.

“Hello, Charles,” Erik greeted him with a nod. His throat felt rougher than sand paper. He needed a drink. “Nice speech,” he added, not missing the way Emma glanced back and forth between them.

“I’m glad you think so, my friend. I’ve already wondered if I accidentally sent some guests into a coma.”

“Well, if you did, then there’ll be more alcohol left for us.” Emma piped up with a wicked smile directed at Erik and he would have returned it if it hadn’t been for the look on Charles’s face.

Jesus Christ.

“Uhm, Charles, this is Emma Frost.”

“Oh I’ve already heard quite a lot about our dear Miss Frost,” he took her hand and pressed a light kiss to its back. Erik had to do a double take because it looked as though she was blushing. “Your father and mine have been business partners for almost twenty years, haven’t they?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Charles raised an eyebrow archly. "I'm not sure how to take that. Do you mean you're going to behave well enough to make sure their business relations aren't damaged, or are you gently telling me you've no interest in making our family connections any closer than business?" 

"Both," Emma said, smiling as she took her hand back. "Your speech _was_ good, though. Erik here wasn't lying, despite his evident bias." 

Erik felt himself flushing, blood-hot and hellishly swift. Charles, damn him, was smiling slowly, his eyes full of intrigue and a hint of mischief. "And what bias would that be?" he asked sweetly, in a tone of voice that said he knew damn well. Seriously, this Charles was a menace. Erik was fairly convinced he hadn't drunk more than maybe a glass of champagne, but the look on his face was lethal. 

"I imagine she means my special interest in your subject," Erik lied glibly. Charles laughed and nodded. 

"Of course, of course. Well, you'll be glad to hear that the, uh, formal part of the evening is mostly over with now. We'll start the milling around in a little while. And we'll open the bar, of course." Charles winked. It should have been corny, but instead it was horrifyingly attractive, in the sense that Erik was utterly horrified at his own reaction. "That tends to get people dancing." 

Erik snorted. "You won't catch me dancing, I'm afraid." 

"What a shame," Charles said, exchanging a glance with Emma that Erik didn't miss. 

"I suppose we'll see," Emma said, and Erik felt his resolve waver a little. From a woman like Emma, that promised nothing good.

Charles excused himself to attend to his mother, and the dessert came, but Erik didn't manage to pay much attention to it. His eye was on Charles, somewhere at the far side of the room gesticulating at a waiter about something or other. More specifically, Erik's eyes were on Charles's obscenely round and perky ass, presented perfectly for Erik's delectation in that beautifully-cut tuxedo. God, mayb e he'd better leave before the drinking really began. Even at this distance, Erik's hands itched to take hold of that thing and squeeze hard enough to leave fingerprints. 

By the time Charles found Erik again, the music had started and the vast majority of those attending had shuffled over to the bar. Erik felt Charles before he actually saw him, the hairs on the back of his neck seeming to stand up in anticipation before Charles said warmly, "You look very nice, Erik. New suit?" 

If that wasn't a blatant come-on, Erik had never heard one. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. "Thank you, I've had it since university. Which I'm sure isn't true of yours." 

Charles smiled. "No, this is new, I'm afraid." 

"Why don't you dress like this at school?" Erik couldn't help asking. "I don't mean in a tux, but…" 

"You mean I usually look awful," Charles interrupted. Erik laughed. 

"I wouldn't quite put it that way. I don't think I've ever seen you look _awful_." 

"What a gentleman," Charles said, looking up at Erik under his eyelashes. "Oh, well, I suppose I ought to _mingle_ , and all that. I'm sure I'll bump into you later, sir." 

That _sir_ simmered through Erik for the next half an hour. At school, he'd have thought nothing of it, but it felt deliciously out of place here; made Erik imagine how Charles would look on his knees, calling Erik _sir_ right before he wrapped his mouth around Erik's dick. 

Shit, he had to get out of this crowd and calm himself down. Splash some water on his face, or something; get this out of his system. He was probably exaggerating the blue of Charles's eyes and the red of his mouth; it was hormones, or something. Pushing through the bustle of bodies, Erik fought his way to the nearest bathroom and stumbled in. 

If the cool water against his face did anything to help him calm down, its effect was rendered swiftly redundant when, not five minutes later, Charles walked into the bathroom with a determined look on his face.

Erik caught his reflection in the mirror; his brain couldn't even quite process how quickly Charles was approaching him until the latter muttered, "Right. Enough of this," and grabbed Erik by his jacket to turn him around and press a hard kiss to his mouth. They stumbled back against the sink, Charles holding on to the lapel of Erik's jacket, Erik wrapping his arms tightly around Charles’s waist.

"I've wanted you so fucking much, Lehnsherr. I've had enough of waiting when you've had the outright cheek to walk around looking like this all evening." Charles was breathless, his tone fierce and accusatory, accompanied by a sharp nip to Erik's lower lip to emphasise his point.

"Likewise," Erik groaned, feeling Charles's tongue sweep over his lips, hot and wet and so bloody sinful that he chucked his previous doubts and inhibitions promptly overboard.

"Stall?" Charles suggested hoarsely, tugging at the sleeves of Erik's waistcoat. 

"Stall," Erik nodded and pushed Charles across the room over to the toilet stalls.

God, was he really about to do this? It was all so _seedy_ , slamming this guy, one of his fellow teachers, no less, up against the door of a toilet stall, catching his wrists and pinning them over his head until Charles whimpered in protest and arched his back, straining to get at Erik's mouth -- fuck, Erik had needed a bit of seediness in his life. He'd been with responsive lovers before, but Charles seemed on a hair-trigger, turning in a moment from put-together young socialite to this writhing, needy thing in Erik's arms, groaning and panting and sucking on Erik's tongue. The sounds he was making were driving Erik crazy. 

"Fuck, please," Charles was whimpering, the curse somehow even dirtier in his well-heeled, prep school accent, so East Coast it was essentially English. His fingers curled down over Erik's, nails digging in, and Erik took the hint, released his wrists so Charles could palm at Erik's back, half-climbing him as they kissed, deep and dirty and eager as teenagers. 

"You do this a lot, huh?" Erik could hear the shiver in his own voice; felt it echoed in the way Charles trembled in his arms, clawed at Erik's shoulders under his jacket. "Sneak off into bathrooms and let men rub off on you?" Erik rolled his hips, a prickling, possessive heat driving him, and Charles cried out beautifully when their cocks slid together. Outside, Erik could still hear the low sound of laughter, people talking; but the danger was only making him hotter, lips trailing into the hollow of Charles's throat, teething at that porcelain skin. He wanted to mark him up, leave him wrecked and messy and gorgeous with it. 

"Bet you'd let me," he breathed; nipped at Charles's throat and sucked at it until Charles was gasping, body a taut arc of pleasure. "Bet you'd let me, wouldn't you, you shameless little slut; you'd let me fuck you right here in this stall with all those people right outside --" 

"Oh _Jesus_ Christ, Erik, _yes_." He was half-sobbing now, hands sliding up to fist cruelly in Erik's hair, and Erik let himself be pulled, let himself fall into that clinging, frantic, urgent kiss, all teeth and tongue and promises. Maybe _right here in the stall_ had just been dirty talk, but one way or another, Erik was going to have this boy tonight, going to milk every last ounce of sass right out of him, and Charles was going to -- 

"Charles?" 

They both froze. It would have been almost comical, had it not been for the way they were positioned, Charles on one leg and clinging to Erik for support, Erik in the middle of a rough grind into Charles's erection. The last thing they needed was…

"Charles?" Mr Xavier. Senior. Erik briefly contemplated attempting to escape via the toilet, but ultimately decided his head wouldn't fit through the pipe. "Son, are you in here? I need your help." 

Charles, sensible for once, said nothing, but Erik could see his thoughts clearly writ on his face all the same. _Shit_. 

For one long uncomfortable moment, they stared at each other and Erik could pinpoint the moment Charles made a decision. Not breaking the eye-contact just once, he cleared his throat and called out, “I’m here, yes. I just need a second, all right?”

“Oh, good,” Mr. Xavier breathed a sigh of relief. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just the usual, father.” Charles grinned at Erik whose eyes had widened in utter horror. Charles stifled a laugh as he gently squeezed Erik’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Give me a second, I’ll be right there.” And with that, he flushed the toilet which gave Erik enough time to shuffle aside while the sounds of the toilet drowned the noise he made.

Charles looked at him one more time and sighed with regret before he opened the toilet stall and stepped out, suddenly looking neat and proper again. This man must have magical powers.

“There you are, son!” Erik heard Xavier senior say to his son, followed by Charles’s airy chuckle.

“Sorry that I let you wait. I got a call and afterwards I badly needed the loo.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Xavier senior replied in that strange paternal tone some people tended to get once they were parents. This was the moment Erik thought they’d finally leave and he could discreetly slip out of the bathroom as well but, alas, this wasn’t the case. “Charles, before we need to go back, I’ve got to say that I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Charles sounded positively pleased.

“But,” and here Mr. Xavier’s voice dropped a little, turned a little more serious. “I don’t need to remind you to behave yourself, do I?”

“...Father?”

“I mean, I know you’re a young man, Charles, and I also know that you -- just like me -- don’t like to waste an opportunity, if you know what I mean.” Erik cringed hard at the mere thought of old Xavier chasing skirts back when he was young. “But please, wait until you’re home and you cannot embarrass your mother and I in front of our guests. We had our fair share of semi-scandals back when you were at Oxford.”

“I know, I know,” Charles sighed. “Family reputation and all that.”

So Charles _was_ a little playboy, or at least used to be one. Erik wanted to laugh at that mental image. He wondered what sort of scandals the elder Xavier had been aware of. Had Charles papered over the, uh, gay cracks with suggestions of feminine involvement, or was his father more aware than that? 

He was soon to find out. Mr Xavier sighed and Erik heard the sound of his hand clapping on his son's shoulder. "Of course I have more to worry about with you. Young gentlemen are much easier than young ladies to convince into canoodling in bathrooms." 

Erik couldn't help the noise that came out of his mouth at that. The blasted old man was more cunning than he let on. Erik could only hope he didn't know who, exactly, had been huddled in the stall with his son. He had no desire to lose his job. 

Outside, Charles was making what sounded like a lot of deliberate noise. "Dad --" 

"Yes, yes." Thank God, it sounded like they were leaving. "I'm shutting up, I know when to butt out. Come on, then." 

The bathroom door creaked shut, and Erik fell against the wall, feeling like a man spared the gallows at the last possible second. 

When he finally walked back to his table, he noticed not quite without amazement that it had been entirely vacated. As he looked around with a frown to see where everybody had gone off to, he heard loud laughter coming from behind him. The bar had opened while he and Charles had been busy, and for one tempting moment, Erik considered joining Emma and the others from his table. His decision, however, was made by someone else.

“Come with me,” Charles murmured into his ear from behind, his hand on the small of Erik’s back, a firm warm pressure against him. Erik nearly jerked away out of surprise.

“But your parents --”

Charles huffed a laugh against him, briefly nuzzling the shell of his ear before he withdrew and gave Erik a bright smile. “They’re currently wrapped up in a conversation with the mayor. If you want to continue what we were doing before, Erik, then now’s the time.”

It just took him one glance over at the Xaviers, who seemed too engaged right now to notice anything, for Erik to make his mind up.

“Okay. Let’s go.” And with that, he grabbed Charles’s hand and they both made a run for it.

Once they were seated in a taxi, both barely able to keep their hands off each other, Erik asked, “Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” The tone in Charles’s voice was resolute, _eager_ , and when the taxi driver finally set off, Charles reached over to stroke the inside of Erik’s thigh. Erik gasped, shooting Charles a look, and Charles grinned wickedly at him.


	4. Chapter 4

For someone like Charles who'd had an upbringing as though he was the prince of Westchester, he lived under relatively modest circumstances. His flat wasn’t much bigger than Erik’s -- and Erik knew exactly what sort of accommodations Charles was accustomed to, that his parents owned some old dusty Victorian mansion in the outskirts of town. Charles’s flat, however, was small, its size appropriate for a single man living alone, and it was messy to a degree where Erik wondered if Charles ever bothered to tidy up the place. And yet, it felt instantly like _home_.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Charles said as he let Erik wander around for a bit, let him explore Charles’s territory. 

Erik snorted. "I didn't know you spoke Italian." 

Charles raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Clearly you don't, either. That's Spanish, Erik." 

"Hmmm." Erik moved slowly across the room, firm, measured paces, and felt himself flush warm at the way Charles's mouth curved in anticipation. "You'll forgive me if I had other things on my mind than your linguistic capabilities." 

At this point, they were almost chest-to-chest, and Erik's hands came up to bracket Charles's hips, the light touch a promise. Charles looked up, blue eyes dark and hot, the quirk of his lips a slow tease. 

"That's a shame," Charles murmured, low enough that Erik had to strain to catch it. "I'm very good with...tongues." 

Erik cursed his dick for twitching at so obvious a line, but Charles was warm and compact and close and his mouth was so incredibly tempting, he couldn't quite blame himself. "Is that so?" 

"For God's sake," Charles said, his voice thick and breathy, "let's have done with the preliminaries and fuck before I explode." 

Lust, long deferred, hit Erik like a punch. "I thought you'd never ask." His hands went to Charles's face, pulled him in, and just like that, they were back where they'd been earlier in the bathroom, biting at each other's mouths and mapping each other's bodies with eager hands, except that now there was actually a bed in sight, a bedroom for Charles to lead them into, stumbling backward and attached to Erik at the mouth. 

There was nothing elegant about it, their ungainly journey across Charles's messy flat punctuated by giggles and groans against each other's mouths, but eventually, at long last, Charles's legs hit the bed and Erik bore him down onto it and _God_ , Erik felt as if this had been coming for months. 

"Erik," Charles got out, arching his back and baring his neck, and fuck, could he really be doing that unconsciously? Everything about Charles was the perfect picture of artful desperation, so beautiful it almost couldn't be real -- except that the way Charles's nails dug into Erik's back, the hot throb of his cock in the confines of his trousers, these were very real indeed. Charles looked gorgeous, strung-out and wanton and empty, and Erik wanted to fill him with everything he had. 

“Trousers off,” was all Erik managed to rasp out while he frantically tugged at his belt and zipper. Charles did the same, quickly wriggling out of his trousers and boxers and not bothering to open each tiny button of his shirt. At least Erik had discarded his waistcoat along their way to Charles’s bedroom. They were a picture to behold -- both half-naked (or half-dressed), their shirts rumpled and dishevelled while their ties were hanging loosely around their necks. Once they had managed to kick their trousers off, they went back to kissing each other fervently, Charles arching up against Erik and the latter grinding down against him, making both of them moan into each other’s mouths.

With one quick motion, Charles opened the drawer of his bedside table and fumbled around briefly, before he got a hold of lube and condoms which he unceremoniously pressed into Erik’s greedy hands.

“Turn around,” Erik ordered and Charles complied instantly, spreading his legs for Erik already in anticipation.

From this perspective, Charles bore absolutely no resemblance to the mild-mannered teacher Erik had come to know -- or, for that matter, to the shy new graduate he'd hired and made a game out of teasing. On the contrary, this Charles looked as if he hadn't an innocent bone left in his body, thighs parted unashamedly, hips lifted, ass canted up for Erik's touch. And who was Erik, to resist such an obvious invitation? 

"God, I can already tell you're going to be good at this," Erik muttered, half to himself, cupping the swell of Charles's ass with both hands. He squeezed, and Charles whined obligingly, grinding himself against the bed. 

"Erik, come _on_. Don't tease." 

The jagged break in Charles's voice cut Erik like a knife, and all at once the way Charles was pushing himself against the mattress was too much, too much Charles moving at his own pace and not Erik's. Erik smacked him, sharp and hard enough to surprise both of them, but it had the desired effect, Charles groaning and lifting his ass and Erik wasted no time in gripping him hard by the hips, tugging him up. 

"Don't tease?" His voice was low and hot, every wriggle of Charles's delicious ass only driving him on. "But you've been teasing me all year, Mr Xavier, haven't you? I think the least you can do is get up properly on your hands and knees like a good boy, and wait for me to fuck you before you start rubbing off on the bed." 

"God…" Charles was panting, his face pressed against his bared forearms, but he let himself be manoeuvred; let Erik position him the way he wanted, pliable as a doll, and Erik couldn't hold back against that; had to lean in and nuzzle the creamy insides of Charles's thighs, the fat swell of his balls. Charles groaned, pushed back, and this time Erik didn't tease, chasing the sounds Charles made when Erik kissed him, then tongued at him, feeling the muscle flutter against his mouth.

“I thought you weren’t one much for linguistics,” Charles half-laughed, half-sobbed while Erik continued to loosen him up with his mouth, making him squirm in delight. Erik replied with a pointed jab of his tongue which caused the other man to curse under his breath. Yes, Erik could get used to this, making Xavier shut up in the most enjoyable way possible.

By the time Charles had been rendered into a needy mess, cock leaking precome onto the sheets and half-serious death threats being issued every ten seconds, Erik decided enough was enough. He was hard to the point where a) it was almost painful and b) he couldn’t really stop himself from jacking himself off at the sight of Charles before him, and he didn’t want to come already just from _this_. No, he wanted to fuck Charles’s smug smile from his pretty lips, and goddammit, he was going to do it tonight.

At least he managed to roll a condom over his hyper-sensitive erection without much further ado, and he might have taken his time to apply lube as well, just to see Charles squirm and curse, but he was past the point of being able to tease Charles without teasing himself to distraction. When finally he breached Charles with slick fingers, Charles groaned low into the mattress, arching his back. 

“Took you long enough,” he sighed into the pillow, shooting Erik a glance over his shoulder. Erik smirked back.

"I was enjoying myself," he said. 

"Well," Charles panted, "I'd appreciate it if you tried enjoying yourself -- oh, _fuck_ , yeah, like that." 

He was biting his lip, face turned sideways on the pillow, teeth white against the red of his mouth as Erik pushed into him, slow and hard and, "God, Charles, look at you, taking it so easy," he murmured, genuinely awed. Charles was panting, his back a tight bow of tension, but his body took Erik's cock like it was made for it, Charles's thighs taut with muscle as he pushed himself back, like he couldn't wait to feel the whole length of Erik inside him. The sight of it made Erik's gut flare with the desperate urge to move, to slam into Charles's perfect arse the way he'd wanted to almost from their first meeting, and when finally Charles was flush to Erik's pelvis, they were both gasping, Charles moaning faintly against the back of his hand. 

"Come on," he rasped, and Erik was too eager to prolong the tease. "C'mon, Erik, _fuck me_." 

The want in his voice was too much. Erik bit his lip, took hold of Charles's hips, and pulled out almost to the tip, panting at the way Charles groaned and clawed at the sheets. When Erik slammed back in, Charles's body so hot and tight and clenching around him, they both moaned, Charles's pale shoulders flexing, and Erik just had to lean in and teethe at the freckled wings of his shoulderblades, lick at the sweat-slicked hollow of Charles's back. 

Charles might have been a cock-hungry little bottom, but there was nothing _submissive_ about him. He gave as good as he got, shoving himself back onto Erik's cock, fucking himself like that until they were nothing but a cacophony of gasps and moans and the slick sound of skin against skin. Erik was half-frantic with it, fingers surely digging bruises into Charles's hips, but Charles was chanting under his breath now, _fuckmefuckmefuckme_ and Erik was powerless to do anything but keep on, his thrusts losing rhythm as Charles started to shiver and clench around his cock. 

When he came, he thought for a moment he was going to black out. Instead, he just leaned forward and kissed Charles’s neck while he wrapped a hand around the other man’s cock and stroked him off. Charles’s groan was muffled by the pillow as he spilled over Erik’s hand, hot and wet, and Erik continued to kiss him and stroke him through his orgasm. As they both tried to calm down from their high, Erik lay on top of Charles which was -- much to his surprise -- more than comfortable. And perhaps Charles liked it as well, otherwise he would have shoved him off long ago. But they stayed like this, Erik being a human blanket while Charles hummed happily as he took one of Erik’s hands and kissed its palm.

“This was marvellous”, he said in between pecks, and Erik rolled off him so Charles could turn around and face him. “And long overdue.”

Erik raised his eyebrows at him, the corner of his mouth curving up. “Oh really?”

“Of course. I’ve pretty much wanted to bed you since the first time we met.”

Erik didn’t reply immediately; he enjoyed far too much the way Charles’s expression changed from smug shagged-out satisfaction to worry as he continued to stay silent.

“Wasn’t the feeling mutual?” he then asked, careful.

“To be honest? No.” Erik laughed at Charles’s indignant scoff. “I thought you were… _cute_. You seemed like any other eager student who just graduated from uni, and I’ve seen that kind of person often enough in my life. But --” he added, not missing the way Charles’s face turned slightly hopeful again although the bastard tried not to show it, “if I hadn’t been interested in you, I wouldn’t have just done this.”

“Oh, fuck you, Erik.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Next time, eh?” And now Charles was shifting closer, his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly. “Do you want to repeat this, then?”

He looked at Charles for another long moment as he contemplated what this might change, if they continued to pursue this -- whatever this was.

A future relationship? Quite possible.

Getting kicked out of his job? ...Maybe.

But as he looked at Charles, not quite missing the tentative spark of hope in his eyes, his stupid big blue eyes, Erik couldn’t bring himself to care more about his career than about the man in his arms.

“Okay.”

Charles's smile was blinding, and more than worth the fluttering sense of nervousness in Erik's chest. "Really? The great and unattainable Erik Lehnsherr might actually deign to engage in more than a one night stand with the likes of me?" 

Erik snorted. The irony was just too much. "The likes of you? Charles, my entire school is founded on your family's money. It wouldn't be in my best interests _not_ to engage in more with you." 

Immediately, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. It had come out completely opposite to the way he'd intended it -- he'd meant to say _don't be silly, Charles, if anything, I'm not worthy of you, not the other way around_. What Charles had heard…

"So you're saying you only fucked me to get somewhere with my parents, is that it?" The smile had gone from Charles's face, replaced by an expression Erik was sadly sure Charles had donned for many a lover before. 

Erik sighed. "I'm sorry. That isn't what I meant, honestly. I didn't even know you were one of _those_ Xaviers until last week...and I had this in mind long before that." 

Charles's frown turned into something that was tentatively, almost, a look of hope. Taking courage from that, Erik went on: "I just meant...it's hardly me _deigning_ to be with you, is it? I'm just a headmaster. You're Charles fucking Xavier." 

Charles laughed, and Erik had never been so relieved to be laughed at. "Erik, do you really think there's any comparison?" He wriggled around, tucked himself under Erik's arm so his head was pillowed on Erik's shoulder, and it was ludicrously comfortable, his soft dark hair like feathers against Erik's skin. "At school, you're...unreachable. They think you're a dragon." 

"Really?" Erik murmured, although he knew it was true. "And what do you think of me?" 

Charles smiled; leaned up and pressed a kiss to Erik's mouth, soft and chaste. "I think you're a marshmallow, inside. Aren't you?" 

For answer, Erik kissed him back. 

*

While it was easier to let go and be themselves in private, it was far more difficult to maintain a serious, professional relationship on school grounds. They could touch and flirt with each other as much as they liked when they were alone. At school, whether it was in classrooms, the hallway or the staff room, both Charles and Erik had agreed upon keeping up the illusion that they weren’t more than just working colleagues. Naturally, Erik took this agreement more seriously than Charles -- after all, his job was at stake, seeing as how he had to worry, unlike Charles, that he might get kicked out of his position if anybody noticed he was in a relationship with the Golden Boy.

Charles didn’t let Erik that easily off the hook, though. There _was_ teasing going on, lots of it. Perhaps other people failed to notice it because they were too intimidated by Erik, as well as misguidedly thinking he wasn’t too fond of Xavier, anyway. Nobody suspected anything -- although, given Charles's utter lack of subtlety, that was a miracle and a half. 

But in the end, whenever they managed to snatch a quick kiss in the hallway (thank _God_ they were both scientists and their classrooms were close to each other), Erik couldn’t really complain. Certainly, there were times when they accidentally ended up making out in one of the vacant classrooms, either up against the blackboard or the teacher’s desk, but that was okay because this was Charles, and everything felt _just right_ when Charles was involved.

And in the evenings, when Erik just so happened to bump into Charles in the parking lot and Charles just so happened to get into Erik's car instead of his own, it was indeed just right. As long as they could ignore the fact that Erik was Charles's boss, while Charles's family financed Erik's entire career -- a confusing sort of dichotomy -- then it was simple. Charles's mouth fitted so perfectly against Erik's; the curve of his ass and the dip of his spine slid under Erik's hands as smooth as butter. Erik's front room was seeing more activity with the Xavier boy than it had seen for years, and more than that, it felt _important_. Charles wasn't just some boy Erik was fucking; he was...they were… _more than that_. 

Naturally, that made it harder to keep the whole thing under wraps. 

The first person to find out was Raven. Of course. She and Charles were altogether too friendly; Erik had always been against making proper friends with his staff for this exact reason. He wanted to keep his private life private. (And yet, here he was, blurring all his own lines and smearing his private life all over his workplace, like an idiot). Charles, though, didn't have Erik's capacity for compartmentalising things. He was close to Raven, and that meant, apparently, that when she needled him for information, he gave it up helplessly. Erik could have bitched him out for it, except that when Raven sidled up to him in the staff room and said, "You and Charles, huh?" something in his chest squeezed up, warm and possessive. 

"Me and Charles, _what_?" He did his best to stand her down with his eyes, but she was having none of it. 

"You hurt him, and I'll hurt _you_." The threat would have been childish, except for the look on Raven's face, which wasn't remotely to be trifled with. Erik swallowed. 

"Oh, believe me, I have no intention of hurting him. I doubt he'd ever let anyone do that." 

It seemed to be the right thing to say. Raven nodded, stepped back. "Well. As long as we're clear." 

“You mean _as long as you don’t breathe a word to Charles’s parents_.” This was something Erik was dead serious about it and Raven acknowledged it, despite the flash of curiosity he could see in her eyes. 

Thankfully, Raven stayed true to her word and it seemed for a while as though everything would go well. That was until Moira, of all people, caught them kissing in Erik’s office. She hadn’t meant to, apparently -- Erik could tell from the slightly scared look on her face and the way her cheeks burned with shame. Moira had always nursed a bit of a crush on Charles and when she walked in on them, her eyes widened almost comically while he and Charles, with Erik leaning against his desk’s edge and Charles standing between his legs and his arms looped around Erik’s neck, stared back at her, too stunned to move.

She managed to stutter out some excuses and how she was terribly sorry for having forgotten to knock, and _please, Erik_ , you wouldn’t fire her now, would you? For one terrible moment, Erik seriously considered this since he couldn’t afford her chattering about this incident to other people. But then Charles gently pinched his neck and gave him a smile.

“Don’t even think about it, Lehnsherr.”

Erik sighed and resigned.

Perhaps Charles _wanted_ their relationship to go public. Erik couldn’t blame him. After weeks, months even of sneaking around at school and stolen moments where they could be affectionate with each other, it was getting tiresome. He was tired of having to keep this a secret -- they both were.

And so it was no surprise that after a while, rumours came up, people threw them suspicious or curious glances -- depending on how open-minded some of them were. Erik was aware of that the news of their liaison spread like a wildfire thanks to Moira and Raven but if he had wanted to stop it, he had lost his chance to do so long ago.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not the entire school knew about it until one morning in April when one of his brightest pupils dared to ask him if he and Charles were now _both_ headmasters seeing as how they were _married_.

 _Rumours_ , Erik thought with a dour huff but didn’t deny anything. Not that there was anything to deny in what the student had said, of course. He and Charles weren't married. If it just so happened that, somehow, they'd ended up sleeping over at each other's houses more often than not, well, that was nobody's business but theirs. 

Besides, it wasn't as if whispers of this had gone beyond the school grounds. Unless the Xaviers kept up secret cameras on all their employees' houses, there was no reason anyone should know just how much time they spent with each other. There was no reason anyone should know how much Erik, who had always declared himself an island, loved that soft look on Charles's face when he was drowsy in Erik's arms, his eyes warm, as if he'd never want to be anywhere else. There was no reason anyone should know that the first time Charles choked out the L-word in the midst of sex, Erik...actually had not had a panic attack. And indeed, three weeks later, had said it back, to be met by an infuriatingly smug smile from Charles and a murmured, "Oh, Erik, I know." 

This was new for Erik, okay. He didn't know where it was going; he didn't think it necessary for either of them to try and put a label on it just yet. Charles was warm, and sweet, and funny, and an unexpectedly wicked little tease, and he did things with his tongue that made Erik feel as if he were having an out-of-body experience. And that was lovely, but Erik couldn't help but think it would be even lovelier if the prospect of the Xaviers finding out hadn't been dangling over his head like a financial Sword of Damocles. 

They'd think he was corrupting their precious little prince, of course. Erik hadn't even bothered broaching the subject with Charles. He just knew it. 

Which was why, when he opened a fancy envelope that turned out to be an invitation to a Xavier garden party, he actually dropped it like a hot potato, with a little yelp like someone in a fucking cartoon. 

"Well, that was an undignified noise, Headmaster." Charles's smirk was evident in his voice as he meandered out of Erik's bedroom, pale legs long and bare beneath the hem of one of Erik's t-shirts, and wrapped his arms around Erik's waist. "What've you got there?" 

Erik took a deep breath, and fought to recapture what remained of his dignity. "If you must know," he muttered, "it's an invitation from your mother. To a - a _garden party_." 

"An invitation?" Charles didn't sound at all as if he were appreciating the severity of the situation. "From my mother?" 

"To a _garden party_ ," Erik said. If they were going to play parrots, he could play too. "Why is your mother inviting me to a garden party? Has she found us out? Is that code for We Formally Invite You To Your Own Ritual Murder (Bring Your Own Beer)?" 

Charles snorted a laugh against Erik's back, and pressed his face between his shoulderblades. "Orrrrrrr possibly she's invited you because she invites you to all her biggish corporate events?" Charles's voice was light, but there was something in it Erik couldn't place. He didn't like it. He squeezed Charles's wrists and frowned. 

"I hate parties," he muttered dourly. 

"As do I," Charles said, "when they're _garden parties_ , but you are going to improve this one for me immensely. Now --" He took Erik's hand and gave it a tug. "Stop worrying, and come back to bed, please?" 

Erik spent the few steps to the bedroom feeling mildly disconcerted that Charles thought this was something he could stop worrying about, when Erik was clearly about to be sacrificed on the Xavier altar for debauching their son. And then Charles did that _thing_ with his tongue, happily demonstrating just how debauched he'd become all on his own, and Erik couldn't think about garden parties any more. 

However, when the day of the party finally had arrived, when Erik finally found himself standing right in the middle of the vastness that was the Xaviers’ garden (to him it resembled more a golf course than anything else), he started to panic again. Charles might have left him alone for a little while just so he could chat to some people he apparently knew but he always stayed close to Erik. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel trapped. While the Xaviers were his employers and Erik should feel blessed to be so highly valued by them that they constantly kept on inviting him to all sorts of happenings, he still tried to avoid them as best he could. After all, if there was one thing he was good at -- apart from scaring his pupils into submission -- it was flying underneath the social radar. He wasn’t a man who was cut out to deal with people outside of work, and frankly, he quite detested it. Pupils were one thing; they were still young and they could still be influenced by him without being brave enough to doubt every word he said or call him out on his bullshit. They were his minions, the Igor to his Frankenstein. (And in a way, he _did_ play God whenever he marked essays and exams.)

Now, however, he was surrounded by fellow adults -- some of them twice as old as him -- and he felt as though someone had thrown him into the lions’ den.

Too distracted by his current worries about whether or not he’d be eaten alive by anybody who’d think he was responsible for debauching the precious Xavier pup, he jumped when Charles approached him from behind and slid an arm around Erik’s waist.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Charles offered a crooked smile to Erik’s glare. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Well,” Erik sighed, “I could do with more alcohol, I suppose. Do we really have to do this, Charles? Can’t we just -- I don’t know, go back home and get something from the Chinese restaurant just around the corner?”

Charles opened his mouth to say something -- Erik hoped it would be a _Yes, of course, my darling, anything for you, my liege_ \-- but then his mouth suddenly quirked up into a strained little smile, and as Erik turned around, he would have preferred to just run away. Far, far away.

“Charles, my boy, I’m so glad you could make it!” Sharon Xavier greeted them, a glass of red wine in one hand while the other reached out to cup her son’s cheek. Christ, Erik had never felt so awkward before. Charles still had his arm slung around Erik’s waist. This was going to be a disaster.

“Mother,” Charles greeted her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We couldn’t really miss out on this, could we?”

_We?_

Erik’s frown deepened.

“Oh, and Mr. Lehnsherr!” She gave him a pleasant smile before she leaned in with a small tipsy giggle, “Or should I call you Erik?”

“I --”

“Mother, really…”

Sharon waved her hand dismissively, cutting them both off. “I mean, you belong to our family now, don’t you? And _what_ a catch you are! Completely different from Charles’s previous boyfriends and let me tell you --” She wriggled her eyebrows at Erik, “I wouldn’t have kicked you out of bed either, if you know what I mean.”

“All right, okay, I think I just heard father call your name. You should absolutely go and check up on him,” Charles interrupted with a nervous little laugh while reaching for Sharon’s elbow, and guided her away from Erik. Dumbfounded, Erik could only stare as Sharon threw him another flirtatious glance over her shoulder with a little wave, while Charles continued his valiant efforts to get her out of Erik’s vicinity.

"Sorry," Charles said, when he'd succeeded in handing off his mother into the capable hands of her husband. "She's drunk already, I'm afraid; she does tend to lose her sense of the appropriate, somehow." 

Erik blinked. Charles looked up at him in concern. 

"Erik?" 

"Let's...go back a moment," Erik said, holding up his hands. Charles arched an eyebrow. 

"Oh, you aren't annoyed about that _part of our family_ comment, are you? I didn't tell her you'd _proposed_ or anything, just that we were seeing each other, and she got --" 

"You told her we were seeing each other?!" Erik's voice was a high-pitched squeak, and Charles, damn him, had the gall to look surprised. 

"Well, naturally. She's always on at me about my poor choice in men and my inability to get a respectable boyfriend. Of course I had to throw you in her face at the first possible opportunity. You heard her; you're a catch. And you actually score me points with her." Charles grinned. "Why wouldn't I tell her?" 

Erik felt relief wash through him like a wave. All this time he'd been petrified of this one last little thing that stood between them...and here was Charles just gaily blurting it out like there'd never been a problem. 

"I sort of thought your parents would want my head on a platter if they knew I was fucking their son," he said, dryly. 

That had Charles actually laughing out loud. "God, Erik, if you'd been around for the debacle over the guy they caught fucking me when I was sixteen...I mean...um." Erik's face had gone dark, and Charles wisely held his tongue for once. "But that's beside the point; if you were worried about them, you shouldn't be." 

Erik pressed his lips together. "They're not going to fire me if you dump me like a hot potato, are they?" 

Charles's face softened then, and he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Erik's cheek. "You, my love, are far, far too hot a potato for any man short of an idiot to drop. And anyway, you could sue them for that." 

Erik rolled his eyes, but his hand slipped into Charles's back pocket all the same. "How romantic." 

"Always," Charles said, and tugged at Erik's hand. "Now, come on, if we move now, we can probably get to that tray of chocolate crispy cakes before those kids devour them all." 

As he let himself be dragged across the Xaviers' massive garden by this gorgeous, ridiculous boy, Erik couldn't help reflecting that he'd never have put up with this kind of nonsense a year ago; but the fact remained, too, that a year ago, he'd been far, far less happy with his lot in life than he was now. Even if he hadn't realised it. 

“Do I smell bacon-wrapped shrimp?”

“Oh, Erik.”

Sometimes, a little nonsense in life was its own reward.


End file.
